Chapter Text
1.
The sorcerer sat in the brush away from the camp and debated whether or not he wanted to approach.
The night was dark and miserably cold, and the caravan encamped on the road had built a rather inviting watch fire. He could smell their evening meal, and it reminded him that he hadn’t eaten for days, or slept for days; his training allowed him to ignore the needs of the flesh more easily than most people, but he was nearly at his limit and the thought of a warm fire and a hot meal were straining his acetism. But the fact that the caravan camp looked so inviting made him question if approaching them was such a good idea.
The night was full of terrors, ahead and behind, and all of Khanduras was on fire, but the caravan had not set much of a watch. They could’ve circled their wanes and built a fortified camp, but they had not, as though they were traveling through some friendly land where order prevailed. Though the allure of a meal and a night’s rest were powerful, the camp looked like a shining beacon in the darkness, inviting all of the terrors that walked through it, and that thought made the sorcerer wonder if he couldn’t make it the rest of the way to Eastgate on his own; it was only two more days or so.
The most put-together part of the camp was the watchman, an enormous blonde woman who walked about girt for war, a bow in her hands and a spear across her back. She looked young, about his age, hard and noble and grim. The sorcerer had seen her kind before, and thought that her presence, at least, conveyed some semblance of safety. He wondered how an Askari warrior had managed to find herself in Khanduras, but he supposed that someone could say the same thing about him. Still, though he knew a killer when he saw one, there was only the one of her, and the night held innumerable terrors.
He had just made up his mind to pass by the caravan and make his own way to Eastgate when the Askari, making another pass around the perimeter of the camp, stopped, and stared right in his direction, cocking her head like a bird-dog. The sorcerer kept quiet and still, willing himself to fade into the shadows.
As quick as thinking, the Amazon drew back her bow and fired an arrow into the darkness. It thumped into the trunk of a tree a foot or so from the sorcerer’s head. He yelped, and she nocked another arrow and barked, “Come over here into the light. Now.”
Grumbling, the sorcerer got to his feet, touched the amulet hanging around his neck, and walked slowly toward the camp with his arms outstretched. When he came into view, the Amazon lowered her bow, smirked, and said, “Well, you don’t look like much of a threat. You don’t look like too much at all.”
The sorcerer gave an exaggerated bow. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you, as well. I am Dulas Xul of Kehjistan, at your service.”
“You’ve been sitting in the forest watching our camp for the past hour. What's your business?”
“Before I chose to accept your gracious invitation, I was debating whether or not to come try and beg a meal off of you; I haven’t eaten for days.” He rubbed his gaunt, hollow stomach for emphasis. “But, if it’s all the same to you, madam, I think I’ll keep walking. My destination is not so far.”
“Why not come share fire and food with us, stranger? There is plenty.”
“Because, good lady, in the hour I spent watching your camp, you are the only guard I’ve seen. You people move about as though you have no idea where you are, like a gaggle of princesses out maying. Better to be alone and hungry than to sleep with a target on my back.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
To her surprise, Dulas Xul laughed. It was a terrible, manic sound, and his eyes glazed over with a madman’s flash, but his sour expression relaxed into one of relief, and he said, “So I’ve managed to stay ahead of the news, then. Oh, Mother, I was not expecting that.”
“What news?”
“Tell me, is this caravan heading to Eastgate? And do you plan on leaving at first light?”
“Yes. But why? Explain yourself.”
“I think I will be begging a meal off of you, then. But, please, take me to your caravan master; I have news for him.”
“First, you will tell me . You’re still a stranger here.”
Dulas Xul started to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He grimaced, and it was a look that the Amazon recognized; the look of a warrior who has seen too much of bloody battle and tries his best not to think on it. He looked down, drew in a shallow breath, and muttered, “They . . . they failed.”
“Who failed, stranger?”
“They failed. Khanduras burns. Diablo walks the earth.”
“Look at me in my eyes, stranger.”
He grimaced and looked up into her eyes. She studied him for a moment and muttered, “Athula . . . You’re telling the truth.”
“I am a very bad liar.”
“Come with me, Dulas Xul. You have to speak with Warriv.”
“Yes, of course, ah . . . I don’t believe I caught your name.”
She rolled her eyes. “My name is Alexa, Kehjistani.”
He looked up at her again, raising his brows in disbelief. “Wait. Are you . . .”
“Yes, I am, and I would appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut about that. What is a necromancer doing in Khanduras, anyway?”
“Don’t ask, and I won’t ask what a prince is doing in Khanduras.”
“Prin cess . And I suppose that’s fair enough.”
***
Dulas Xul drew a lot of suspicious looks as the two of them headed for the fire in the center of the camp, but he was used to that; most of the caravanners looked to be Aranochan, and they’d likely never seen a priest of Rathma before, though they’d surely heard many dubious stories. One in particular, a tall, blonde merchant with a scheming look about him, observed him not with suspicion but with undisguised hatred. Dulas Xul gave him his biggest, friendliest smile as they passed.
The caravan master, a tall and dour Aranochan, knelt by the fire, tending a tea kettle. When they walked up, he smiled and said, “Hello, Alexa. Is this the stranger you warned me about?”
“Yes. This is Dulas Xul, of Kehjistan. He brings troubling news.”
“His sort usually do. No offense, friend.”
“Ah, none taken,” Dulas Xul said, squatting down next to him. “There’s no malice in the truth, and I know we’re a grim and gloomy lot. Is that tea?”
“It is, and you’re welcome to it. But what news do you bring?”
The necromancer’s troubled and reluctant look returned. He examined the ground between the two of them and muttered, “You . . . you need to re-order your camp. Circle your wagons and set more watchmen. And you need to do it now.”
“You expect trouble?”
“I’m fleeing from trouble, and I’m probably fleeing right into it as well. They . . . they failed.”
“Who failed?”
Dulas Xul closed his eyes and grimaced, wringing his hands and sucking in a quick breath through his teeth. “My friends. My friends failed. And I failed to save them.”